Turnabout for Justice
by candysquad
Summary: "Even goldfish were known to learn and remember tricks, Simon couldn't say he had the same faith in regards to this man." A story telling Simon's final year in prison, and more importantly, a story how one man's unwavering faith in a convicted criminal saved the innocent from a fate with the gallows. [ Real!Bobby blackbright with background wrightworth and klapollo ]
1. The Start of the End

...

It was a somber day, despite the weather. Holding a steady seventy degrees outside, with only a few clouds dotting the sky, it almost seemed like the cheery temperature was simply there to taunt him and his inner turmoil.

Stupid clouds.

Rather than ponder the reasons behind why he had assigned the clouds the personalities of PTA moms, Miles Edgeworth knew he had to get back to the problem at hand, a one Simon Blackquill. Next month, December, marked the beginning of the man's final year alive, having been sentenced to death on account of murdering his mentor, Metis Cykes.

The ruling never sat right with him, even if Blackquill declared himself guilty and has stuck by that for the entirety of these last six years. Before now, it wasn't like he could do much about it, while well respected for the most part, even he couldn't get a convicted criminal out of jail. Not that he could do that now, but as the Chief Prosecutor, he did have a bit more power.

His husband always told him to trust his gut, and his gut helpfully informed him that Simon was innocent, or at the very least, didn't deserve the death sentence. Perhaps a part of that was remembering what Simon had been like when he first became a prosecutor, still, there were few prosecutors that found the truth more important than a winning record back then. Alone, that raised some flags in Miles's head.

Simon was always happy back then, he had this cheerfulness to him that back then brought relief to Miles; knowing he was not the only prosecutor that no longer cared about a winning streak. It reminded him in some ways of Wright, who always had, and still does, this sort of childish innocence to him. A sort of faith in the truth making itself known when needed. Miles couldn't imagine the frustration he feels at that truth now, knowing that the truth is still hiding from the eyes of the law, laying in wait for it's victim's eventual demise.

It wasn't just Simon's kindness and faith in the truth that always didn't sit right. Simon adored Metis and her daughter, Athena, if he remembered correctly. He had a picture of them, and one other woman who Edgeworth figured was his sister or cousin, in his wallet and always pulled it out to show off at any chance he got. Much like Wright's fascination with showing his badge to people, or their wedding ring, for that matter.

This was not to say he really knew Simon for the brief time he worked at the office before the incident, most of his time was spent busy with cases and getting prepared to become the Chief Prosecutor since Lana Skye had to step down, what, ten years ago now? It had to be more, but Edgeworth did not find himself wishing to check. The cases were a bad memory he wished to forget. Though given that her younger sister, Ema, was a detective now, he found that a bit more challenging.

Thankfully she didn't seem to hold a grudge against him for prosecuting the case.

Wright will be taking the bar exam in a couple months, which was a pain to arrange. It would be worth it though, he hated having his husband mope around the house not being able to be out and working like he wanted to be. Despite being able to help their daughter and Apollo out on cases every now and then, assisting a case was never the same as actually running one.

But… Perhaps it would do. Until Wright got his badge back, perhaps assisting cases would be a good start.

Miles wanted Simon to get back into the world again, perhaps even prosecuting again. That wouldn't be an easy feat to pull off though, even as the Chief Prosecutor. There would be few other prosecutors that would be willing to work with a convicted criminal. Their job was, after all, to get criminals in jail. Though he was sure he would be able to convince a few to give it a chance, he was sure Simon would be of help. At least, that was the plan.

It wasn't like Miles hadn't tried a criminal rehabilitator before, though that was three years ago, and the assignment had not come from him directly, even if he fully supported it. The man quit after a week, informing them that Simon Blackquill was a twisted man and there would be no hope for his redemption. Apparently Simon had gained a name for himself before being tossed into solitary.

How does someone help one that does not wish to be helped? A part of him just wanted to leave well enough alone, but he knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if an innocent man was sent to the gallows. Edgeworth sighed and leaned against the shelf in front of his office window, spinning the golden ring on his finger in thought.

The ring was designed like a golden chain, connecting the two sides of the scales of justice, with a brilliant blue lapis lazuli in it's center. Wright had a matching one with a red garnet in it's place instead. More and more Miles found himself fiddling with it when thinking or stressed, it seemed to calm him, knowing that he had support whenever he needed it, just a phone call away.

Maybe a criminal rehabilitator was the wrong approach. Perhaps the best way to find the truth, would be to have Simon look for it himself… But to do that, he needed his prosecuting badge back, and even if he could skip the classes needed, he would have to retake the exam and get the required hours assisting in.

Perhaps Klavier Gavin would be open to it. He seemed to be the most laid back prosecutor in the office. The man had a band, Miles wasn't sure if someone _could_ be more relaxed. Though he doubted he would agree to just let a convicted murder run around without supervision.

Perhaps a detective could be put in charge of Simon, rather than a criminal rehabilitator. After all, the strongest bonds he saw within this field were between a prosecutor and their detective. Miles didn't know where he would be without Gumshoe's assistance, even if he enjoyed making a show of cutting the man's salary, he rarely ever did. The few times he did were when he was still dealing the conflicting feelings he had for the legal system (much less his childhood crush who decided to show up out of fuck all nowhere). Simon needed a Gumshoe equivalent.

But who? Certainly not Gumshoe himself, he was far too busy these days. Ema Skye would be a poor choice as well, she was smart, but incredibly prickly if she decided for one reason or another she didn't like someone. Plus was pretty prone to brash decisions. Candice Arme was a possible choice, she was far more calm than Detective Skye, and had a good few years under her belt. Though she was a bomb specialist, so he doubted he would be much help in most cases that she would be assigned to with Blackquill. Plus she was rather cold to most people, he would need someone to trust Simon unconditionally, and that just would never be Detective Arme.

There were a few others that came to mind, Detective Doe, who was a kind man but far too weak willed to be able to stand his ground against a man whose specialty in court was using phycology. Detective Tethras, who resembled a dwarf if their beard had migrated from their face to their chest. But he doubted the man would be willing to part with the Prosecutor he has been working with for eleven years. That, and he kept Prosecutor Hawke out of trouble, so who was he to complain?

Many others popped into his mind, they were either too weak mentally, physically or just wouldn't be willing to give Blackquill the benefit of the doubt, especially if the man kicked and screamed the entire time.

That was until a certain man popped into his mind. It was like finding his glasses after they had been curiously hiding in his hair after searching for an hour. A sense of revelation followed his epiphany, of course! No man or woman would be more suited for this task than the champion of justice himself, Bobby Fulbright.

The man was strong willed, nothing and no one could stop his quest for justice. Yet he was kind, almost dog-like in loyalty. Detective Skye has taken to affectionately referring to him as the 'Collie of Justice', which, Miles couldn't really argue with. It was a fitting title for the man. He just cared immensely about everyone and everything, almost too much really.

If Miles were to be honest, even he could really only handle the man in small doses, he was just so much at once. Trucy was about as exciting of a character as Miles could handle or long periods of time. Detective Fulbright was like ten Trucys stuffed in a really passionate firecracker.

He was just what Simon Blackquill needed.

Miles left his place near the window and made his way around to his desk, more specifically, the phone on his desk. He dialed the police department, requesting that Bobby Fulbright be sent to the Chief Prosecutor's office immediately for an important assignment. If there was anyone who would be able to crack Blackquill's hardened shell, it would be Bobby Fulbright. Miles hoped his gut was right.

...

The stale, artificial air was suffocating to most. But for Simon Blackquill, it was almost like a warm embrace. As if his great aunt had come to visit and insisted on smothering him in a tightly wound hug. Perhaps at one time he hated it, but now it simply reeked of home.

Though that was not to say it did not also serve another purpose, to ever remind him just where he was, and how little time he had left. He was due to be hanged December 21st, next year. While the days had blurred into one vague mess of insomnia, Simon was ever aware of his approaching death date.

In a way though, he was glad. It would be the day he could leave his mortal shackles and no longer be forced to live the life of a man already dead. He was, after all, already dead in all means except physical. What good did trying to live get one whose death was constantly strumming along the bars of his cell? Ever taunting him with it's sweet reminder.

He no longer feared death, not that he would admit anyway. Still, he did mourn for leaving his sister and ever faithful Taka behind. They both loved him, and would feel the pain of his loss greatly, he knew. Yet it was something he could do little for, so he simply enjoyed the time fate gave him with them, and dared not ask for more.

Though, as he later learned, fate had other plans for him.

Having been lounging comfortably (or as comfortably as one could be) on his sorry excuse for a bed, the loud clangs against his bars were a greatly unwanted surprise. The warden that worked early mornings was a nasty man. He was old, divorced (likely from not being able to perform in other aspects of his life, but that was just Simon speculating) and had a nasty habit of dragging his police baton along the bars of Simon's cell when he wanted his attention.

Like every time he did this, Simon pointedly ignored him. One wouldn't humor a toddler throwing a temper tantrum by giving in and getting the child what they wanted, he applied the same form of logic to this man. At least children learned eventually, this one seemed to be too old to learn new tricks.

Finally, he spoke with an irritated rasp, "get up will yeh? You have a visitor."

A visitor? Simon glanced up to the single window in his cell, it seemed too early for a visitor. Certainly wouldn't be Aura, she couldn't bother rolling out of bed earlier than eleven on most days. Yet, he could not think of anyone else it could be, he never got any visitors. Athena was off doing her own thing and living her life, hopefully well, but no one else would have much of an interest in seeing him. Certainly not as his final year approached him.

Not feeling up to moving, he simply continued to ignore the warden, hoping he would get the hint and shoo off whoever wanted to see him.

"You can't decline this one, he's some high profile asshole. So get your ass up and lets go." The warden snapped, emphasising his words with a sharp hit against one of the bars.

High profile? This was unexpected. Perhaps it was someone who he would have to write his will with. Despite being on death row for six years, he never actually was told the legalities of his death. Guess better late than never.

With that, Simon swung his legs over and sat up. He was purposely taking his time, getting a rise out of the warden was one of the few things he could do to break up the monotony, though even that was growing tiresome.

As with routine, he stuck one hand through the bars for the familiar clink of the cold metal around his wrists, followed by offering the other to get clasped shut before the door of his cell actually opened. They took needless precautions around him, Twisted Samurai or no, any criminal would know better than to attack a warden in broad daylight, especially when said warden was sent to retrieve him for an appointment.

There were far better ways to escape, many of which had been offered to him in the past, but Simon chose to stay. He deserved his fate for failing Metis and Athena, he would not run from it like a yellow-bellied coward.

So with a jab against his lower back with that blasted baton, Simon found himself urged forward. He held his head high as he passed the other prisoners, some sneering at them, others simply ignoring them. A samurai did not quibble in the face of death, and showed no fear when approaching the unknown; as such, he too would do the same.

As they traversed the bleak halls of the prison, Simon took note of the route they were taking. It was familiar, but the memory was distant enough to be too fuzzy to recall why. As they turned away from the door that would lead them to the path of the visiting room, Simon recalled exactly why this route was so familiar. It was the same route he had taken when he would meet with his _criminal rehabilitato_ r.

So they were going to try this again? Simon did not need to be rehabilitated, nor did he want to be. The gallows was the only acceptable option for him now.

What sort of person waited him in the bleak room where he had met his last rehabilitator? The man before was a proper gentleman, he wore a suit and had his brown hair slicked back with enough product in it, he was sure that tapping for oil in it would solve the world's fuel shortage.

He had a nasally voice too, like the unholy love child of Prosecutor Payne and a helium balloon. The man was so sure that he knew everything about Simon, practically memorized his file.

And he had the _gall_ to try and discuss his psychological state, as if he could comprehend emotions the way Athena could. Despicable.

It was too easy to strike fear into the man's heart. He gave up in a mere week, and that was three years ago. This one would be running away in a day, he was sure.

As the warden opened up the door to the room, Simon was immediately thrown off guard. He had fully expected another Alexander, but what he found was rather the exact opposite.

The man sitting at the table looked like he was plucked out of one of those cheesy action movies, obnoxious orange aviators and all. His gloved fingers gently tapped the surface of the aluminum table, though stopped the moment he took notice of the warden and himself.

He grinned and jumped to his feet, allowing Simon to get a better look at the man. He was fairly tall, but Simon had a good few inches on him still, though the man was certainly more broad than he was. He wore a white jacket to match his equally white pants, how did he keep them so pristine?

It was then that Simon took notice of the gun holster.

That was outside of his jacket.

He was wearing a concealed carry gun holster, _on the outside of his jacket_.

This man was an idiot. A complete buffoon, and they sent him to try and rehabilitate Simon? Frankly, the Twisted Samurai was thoroughly insulted. They could have at least sent someone with more intelligence than the average goldfish. No, that wasn't quite fair. Even goldfish were known to learn and remember tricks, Simon couldn't say he had the same faith in regards to this man.

As it turned out, he had no concept of personal space either. Simon snarled as the man bounded up in front of him, taking a step back, only to be jabbed against by that obnoxious baton that he would rather like to shove down one of their throats.

He tensed as the man reached into his holster, fully expecting a gun or a taser to come out and put him in his place. They were rather fond of tasers in these parts, as he learned over the years.

Yet, instead, he was presented with a badge. It was held up in his face with so much pride and excitement, Simon feared the man would explode on the spot. It was too close to his face to actually read, but he did make out the familiar shape of a detective's badge.

A detective?

"It is a pleasure to meet you Prosecutor Simon Blackquill! I'm Detective Bobby Fulbright, and I have been assigned to work with you on your future cases as a prosecutor again. I'm sure we will be a great team and bring criminals to their rightful places in jail. In justice we trust!"

 _ **Oh hell.**_


	2. We Finish Eachothers, Sandwiches?

November

...

It had been a week now. At least, Simon believed it was a week. Keeping track of time was tricky in a twelve by twelve foot solitary cell. Still, a decent span of time has since passed when he started his 'official' partnership with the loud dotard known as Bobby Fulbright.

Perhaps at one time, another lifetime ago really, he may have found the bumbling fool endearing. Now, he was just a pain and something he had to deal with on a daily basis, like that impotent warden.

Speaking of such, the man is due to take him to the little meeting room Fulbright and he had been speaking in over the last week. The warden was punctual... though Simon was partly convinced the man showed up simply to see the look of misery on Simon's face as he was carted away to deal with the harbinger of justice. Yet the man had not shown himself so far.

Simon was content with laying on his cot all day, staring up at the single barred window, so if the warden never came, he couldn't say he would complain.

The sky was something he longed to see again, despite never having much of an interest in it before. People truly take for granted the small things. Simon refused to do such, especially with so little time left. So, looking out the window to settle his gaze on the sky was something he took great joy - well, contentment would be a better word - in. Perhaps, once he died and his body was laid to rest, he would become a hawk in a next life.

Yes, Simon would like that very much.

Though Simon started to wish that day came sooner than later the moment he heard the tell-tale laugh of a certain boisterous fool.

He groaned as he heard the footsteps get closer. Even his walking pattern was bouncy.

"Good morning Prosecutor Blackquill Sir!" The annoyance cheered, so it seemed that the dotard would now be escorting him to the little room. Fantastic.

Simon ignored him, applying the same principles he applied to the warden, don't pay a child with a tantrum any heed, lest you encourage them to do it more in the future. It seemed that justice could not be swayed, unfortunately.

"I brought our first case with me for us to work on! It's a real doozy, but I'm sure with your help Prosecutor Gavin will be able to put away the criminal for sure and bring justice to the victim!" Simon heard the man reach into his gun holster and pull out his badge, "in justice we trust!"

Simon did not have the patience to deal with this right now. After another fruitless night of sleep, he couldn't find it in himself to even humor the man, so he didn't.

"Sir?" a pause "Siiir? Sir come on, we have to get going!"

Simon continued to blatantly ignore the fool until he heard the telltale jingle of keys. He turned his head and saw the detective unlock the door to his cell and just let himself in. Truly this man wasn't so oblivious to realize he was walking into the lion's den? Yet he seemed perfectly at ease.

Frankly the convict couldn't decide if he was relieved by this or irritated.

The fool shuffled around awkwardly in the space within his cell before easing down onto the ground and setting a folder and a paper bag on the floor. Simon grunted as he forced himself to sit up and face the man proper, just in time to be handed a summary paper on the case at hand.

Cassandra Cade was the victim. She was only 25 years in age, married for two years, 5'3'', brown hair and brown eyes. She was found dead in her bathtub by a co-worker on the 15th, at 7:15pm. No arrests have been made as of yet. So far the only suspect was her husband, but there wasn't much evidence to go by for an arrest as of yet.

The case seemed interesting enough. Simon was glad that he would finally be able to do something with his brain other than play over year old memories in his thoughts, he doubted living so much in the past was healthy. What choice does he have though? He has no future after all.

He glanced up from the paper when he heard the brown bag crunch from the fool sticking his hand in it, producing a sandwich. His eyes narrowed at the food, Simon may actually throttle this idiot if he started eating in front of him.

"Oh! Is it ok if I eat in here? I didn't get a good breakfast so I'm pretty hungry." The dotard inquired, oblivious to Simon's violently growling stomach.

Simon snorted, not deeming the question worthy of an answer. Though it seemed that the imbecile took it as a yes and continued to pull food out of the bag. Simon steeled his will to not kill the idiot, and tried to focus on the case at hand, reading over the summary of the crime again.

"Prosecutor Blackquill? Here, I brought you a sandwich too! It would be unjust to only bring food for myself after all! I also brought an apple, to balance out the sandwich of course."

Simon glanced up to see the apple and sandwich being offered to him. The dotard was smiling, seemingly rather proud of himself. Simon didn't doubt that if he had a free hand he would be doing his two-fingered salute.

Eyes flicking between the beaming idiot and the food, the convict gave in and accepted the food from him, setting the summary beside him on the army green cot. He looked over the apple, there was no sticker on it, meaning the dotard likely washed it before coming. Not that Simon would really care if it was washed or not.

Turning the sandwich over in his hands, seeking to rid it of it's plastic wrap, Simon noticed the contents of it, forcing his brows to furrow with an irritated sigh.

"Detective, does this contain meat?"

The dotard was already eating his own sandwich, though tried to make quick work of the food that was currently in his mouth to respond. Simon half expected the man to choke.

"Y-yes Sir! It's a ham sandwich." He managed to fumble out.

Fuck.

The one time Simon had a chance to not eat the gruel they served here, it had meat. He lifted his lip and tossed the food back to the dotard, "I'm vegetarian."

It took a moment for the dotard to process it, before a humorously horrified expression formed on his face. Well, it was humorous until the man started crying .

"I-I'm so sorry Sir! I… I should have known! This… this is so unjust of me! How could I serve you meat!?" The man actually had to push his aviators a bit to rub his eyes as he sniffled and sobbed, though they didn't stay up long as once he seemed to have calmed down a bit they were right back on his face.

Simon groaned a bit, physically uncomfortable by the sudden outburst of emotion from the dotard.

"I doubt it gave my dietary restrictions in my case file." he doubted it gave anything other than his crimes really, "you are not at fault for this, fool."

That seemed to perk the man up some, and at least it stopped him from crying. He decided to keep the apple though, apples were one of his favorite foods after all. Having seen this, he was offered the dotard's apple, "here Sir! It's the least I can do to make up for you not getting a sandwich! Just one apple is hardly a proper meal!"

Simon reluctantly took it, and set it beside its fellow fruit on the cot, before leaning forward and picking up the case file itself, cracking the folder open as he took a look at the autopsy report.

"We thought originally that it was a suicide," Simon heard the dotard start, "since he found a half empty bottle of antidepressants that was freshly refilled, however the autopsy report showed that she had scratches along her lower back and legs, so we believe the body was dragged from somewhere. We also found traces of mushroom spores in her lungs and around her face. The spores match up with a common mushroom found around a couple of lakes in the area. However, we did learn that the cause of death was blunt trauma to the front of her head, not drowning."

Simon didn't respond, instead he looked over the crime scene photos and the photos of the wounds on the deceased woman's body. Whoever did do this crime, certainly had a grudge against Mrs. Cade. Her body had been found face down in the tub with her legs splayed in a rather… indecent manner. Dumping a body into the tub would not yield such an arrangement of limbs, they had been purposely manipulated to be just so.

"Did anyone have a grudge against Mrs. Cade?" He inquired, glancing up to the obnoxious aviators sitting before him.

"A few people, unfortunately. She was supposedly having an affair with her ex, a one Mr. Louse…" The dotard adjusted his aviators, "her husband recently found out and has a record of violence. However he has a solid alibi, as he was at work during the approximate time of death."

Simon grunted and grabbed one of the apples, taking a rather satisfying bite from it. He continued looking down at the file again as the dotard continued, "the ex was also married, however his wife had not known of the affair until we brought it up, marking her an unlikely suspect. Mr. Louse himself has been missing for a couple days now, Mrs. Louse said he had told her he was leaving on a business trip. We still haven't been able to make contact."

"Anyone else?" The monochrome convict inquired, as he studied the results of the testing they had done.

"Ah, yes! The one who discovered the crime scene in the first place, having peeked into the bathroom window when she went to see why Mrs. Cade had not shown for work: Ms. Lime. She had been working at the office they shared longer than Mrs. Cade, but Mrs. Cade got a coveted promotion through… uh… exchanging sexual favors with their boss, according to Ms. Lime. Though we have no evidence of that."

Simon frowned, it seemed Mrs. Cade had plenty of enemies. Though which of them could have done it? They found no evidence of prints or other damning evidence on the crime scene, well, the place where the body was placed. The bathroom was certainly not the crime scene.

"Have you tested the bathwater?"

The aviators were silent for a beat, then tentatively replied, "I don't think so..."

Simon replaced the crime summary in the folder and snapped it shut, tossing it at the dotard. The man fumbled with it, nearly dropping the file in the process, but somehow managed to keep all the papers inside the manila folder, to the mild disappointment of Simon.

"Test the bathwater, if you idiots did not already drain it. It is likely it may contain traces of pond water or soil found near the pond, which can be tested to give us a an idea of which lake he could have been killed at."

The dotard saluted and quickly made a note to himself on the front of the file, likely to remember his request. He jumped to his feet, gathering up the bag with his empty plastic wrap, the sandwich Simon did not eat, and the apple core Simon just threw at him (which the boisterous fool handled with more grace than he had the folder). Thankfully, the dotard didn't ask for the other apple that still remained untouched.

"You can count on me Sir! I'll make sure we get those test results done right away, in justice we trust!" The dotard flashed his badge at Simon as per usual, before tucking it away and letting himself out of the cell. He gave another salute, "see you tomorrow Prosecutor Blackquill Sir! Have a good rest of your day!"

And like that, he was gone.

Simon snorted and grabbed the other apple, biting into it. He relished how it was now the only other sound he could heard distinctly, other than the gentle hum of the lights that kept this part of the jail lit. Now that the dotard was gone, he could hear himself think again. Even when the man didn't speak, his presence was just so loud , it hurt his head.

The crisp tang of the apple brought back memories of a happier time, he hadn't had an apple since he had been thrown into solitary. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he didn't care either. He had one now, and he felt like he had been given a gift he was wholly undeserving of. Did that moron even know what bringing food like that in meant? Did he know of the wretched slop he had been given for the last three (maybe four) years?

Simon didn't think it likely. Instead he figured the man brought the food because he was so wrapped up in justice that it would be unfair to bring food for himself and not for the other party. Much like bringing snacks to a class, if you didn't bring enough for everyone, it's not fair that you could eat and not everyone else.

Regardless of if it was meant as a kind gesture or because his obsession with justice wouldn't let him not bring two meals, Simon did appreciate it. Even if the food was coming from an idiot none the less.

...

"Good morning Prosecutor Blackquill Sir!"

Simon didn't bother to stop the low groan escaping past his lips. It was not like Simon had been asleep to begin with, but the sudden loud noise did not bode well for his already forming headache.

The convict refused to acknowledge his loud presence, even as the dotard continued to talk and try and get his attention. He could hear the man sigh before the jingle of keys and the creak of the ungreased door to his cell sounded, signaling him that they would continue with the arrangement Simon preferred. Perhaps he could teach this dotard a few tricks.

He sat up and faced the detective as he sat down and made himself comfortable as he did yesterday, and started sifting through a paper bag much like the one he had brought before. He produced two sandwiches and offered one to Simon, again.

The Twisted Samurai lifted his lip at him, "in case you forgot, you dotard, I do not eat meat. I am vegetarian, do I need to remind you of this once more, truly? Or is it, pray tell, you are too moronic to know what vegetarian means?"

The snarling didn't phase the detective, instead he just smiled wider, more insistent that Simon took the sandwich.

"Its an egg salad sandwich Sir! I made it myself last night, since you couldn't have meat." The dotard was quick to assure this to Simon, only causing the man to narrow his eyes at him further.

Still, he suspiciously took the offering from the dotard and inspected it carefully. It was indeed as the detective claimed, an egg salad sandwich. Simon could feel his stomach preform excited flips in his gut, the last time he had one of these was before he had gotten arrested. He unwrapped it from it's plastic prison and took a cautious bite from it.

It was… well, it was actually rather good. It was certainly a different recipe from what he had made, but it still had that familiar tang to it he always enjoyed from egg salad. Did the detective cook in his spare time?

Simon wouldn't put it past the chipper dotard. Though, he couldn't tell if the good taste was due to the dotard actually being a good cook, or if it was because he had not eaten anything resembling actual food in over six years.

Perhaps it was the nostalgia he felt, remembering a time when things were simple. When he was sitting at a lab table, looking over case files, Athena sitting beside him and coloring. Simon didn't know how to cook well, nor did he bother to learn, so he would always fix him and Athena some sandwiches when they grew hungry. Cut into fourths with crust cut off and on the side, he remembered, Athena liked eating the crust separately. Like french fries, she helpfully informed him one time.

"Do you like it, Sir? It was my first time making egg salad!" The obnoxious aviators piped in, giving a hopeful salute.

"It is better than the grey grual they feed me now." He stated, not desiring to inflate the dotard's ego.

It was apparently a lost cause as the man lit up almost instantaneously, clearly so proud of himself for making food that was actually digestible.

"That's fantastic Sir! I took a recipe from one of the other detectives back at the office before I went home and picked up the ingredients, I don't really like eggs so I was hoping her recipe would be good! It would be unjust to feed you a poorly made meal after all!"

The convict groaned and made a point not to comment further, despite the confusion that welled inside of him. What did the dotard gain from going so far out of his way to make him a sandwich he would enjoy? Was it a ploy to try and weaken the carefully constructed barriers he built to protect himself over the last six years?

The dotard was manipulating him, just like that blasted criminal rehabilitator.

Realizing this made his sandwich taste distinctly more bitter. Still, he did enjoy the food, so he would play along, if it meant he could get in some actual meals. Two could play at the manipulation game.

The dotard handed him the case file, now updated it seemed with the results of the latest test.

"You were right about the bath water, Sir! It contained traces of bacteria and soil samples that were matched up to Woodeve lake, just a few miles out of town. We checked the scene out as soon as he got the results, and found some interesting things..."

The dotard adjusted his glasses once more and continued, "The mushroom we found the spores of was very common along the lake. We managed to find a location we believe may have been the place of the murder, as we found tire tracks, beer bottles, and the victim's cellphone. The last contact she had with anyone was her ex, Mr. Louse, when he texted her to meet him at the 'usual place'. Now placing him as the prime suspect."

"Sounds like a open and shut case then." Simon remarked, though did take note of something that bothered him. The file still showed no record of arrest, or murder weapon.

"Well, Sir…" the dotard nervously pressed his fingers together, "we still haven't found Mr. Louse. We managed to track his most recent location to an old railyard, where we believe we may find him, or at the very least evidence of him. It is pretty clear he was not on a business trip like his poor wife thought."

Simon frowned and looked over what they currently had as the dotard started eating his own food. The lake had a small road that led up to it, where they had found the tire tracks, beer bottles, and the cell phone. It didn't seem like there had been any blood found, but a blunt trauma wound may not always bleed.

There were drag marks present, however they couldn't guarantee it was from Mrs. Cade's body, as it was a public location until the police had it sectioned off. Given that the woman's cell phone was still at the scene of the crime gave him the impression it wasn't visited often, though that was hardly proof of anything in the end.

There didn't seem to be signs of a struggle, he noted as well, looking at the photos provided. It didn't seem terribly likely she was killed there, from what he could tell at least. However, it was terrain that could be easily changed and manipulated, a smart criminal could easily smooth out the land as needed to make it look like no struggle had gone on.

"Bring luminol to the railyard," Simon instructed, startling the surprisingly quiet detective into nearly dropping his sandwich. "I believe you may find the weapon there, or perhaps find traces of blood, if that was the scene of the grisly crime. Also have your men sift the lake, you could find a weapon there as well, or more damning evidence that could give a hint to our criminal's location."

The dotard saluted, though like before, made quick note of the instructions given to him. He took the file back from Simon and stood, gathering his bag and the trash from their meal. Like yesterday, he let himself out once he had everything and gave another salute before presenting his badge, "you can count on me Sir! In justice we trust!"

Simon couldn't be more happy when he was finally gone. The Twisted Samurai let himself lay back down, massaging the bridge of his nose to fight the headache throbbing in the front of his skull. Still, the man had been surprisingly quiet as he looked over the case files and thought, perhaps he was capable of silence… if only for a short time.

Even when he had been quite, the man just radiated so much noise. Simon was surprised it didn't keep him from concentrating really.

At least this detective was competent enough, he could give credit where credit was due. He had heard of detectives that were utterly wretched at their job, and had no business being a detective of any sort. Simon didn't know if he could deal with the headache of the dotard's presence, _and_ deal with incompetencies.

...

He was late. Very, very late. Simon wasn't worried, no, he was more irritated. He rather liked the new schedule that had been forming, yet here he was, using nearly all his energy to resist starting to pace back and forth in his cell. It was well into the afternoon now, orange and purple hues painted the sky, evening was fast approaching and there had been no mention of that boisterous detective.

The dotard should have been back with some news by now, and yet, nothing. No sign of him, or that incompetent warden except when he came to feed him the standard slop. It was bland, gritty, and overall unpleasant, so he didn't eat more than a little. He had been expecting the dotard to show up with food soon anyway.

No dotard, and no food.

 _Still_.

Simon could feel his irritation fester and boil inside him, turning more into actual anger towards the moronic detective. Did he think he could shirk duties like this? He had been meeting with Simon every day except Sundays for over a week, it wasn't Sunday, so where was he?

The Twisted Samurai knew he was being unreasonable, but hunger and lack of sleep left him on a furiously short fuse.

He was sitting with his back against the wall his cot attached to, the heel of his boot tapping the cement floor as he waited. Arms crossed and head hung low, one could mistake him for sleeping upright at a glance, however the irritated bounce of his leg would key anyone to his current mood, and painful awakeness.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, they weren't the Warden's. They sounded similar to the Detective's, yet were far more muted than his walk pattern usually was. They meant little to him, so he remained as he was, content with brooding for the time being.

It was the jingle of keys that got his attention. He looked up, surprised to see none other than the boisterous detective himself standing there, unlocking his cell to step inside. Not even bothering with trying to coax him out, it seemed. Looks like the man could be trained yet.

His steel eyes narrowed at the detective, he looked like he had missed a night of sleep. The man had a quieter presence to him, and if he could see the dotard's eyes proper through his aviators, Simon didn't doubt that they were bagged and glazed.

Still, the man intended to be friendly, as standard, offering him a cheerful two fingered salute and a wide grin, "good evening Prosecutor Blackquill Sir!"

"You're late." Simon replied curtly, still irritated that he had waited so long to come consult him.

The detective laughed, and settled himself down on the ground, unaffected by the convict's tone. He offered the file to Simon with one hand, as he started trying to wrangle his hand into an uncooperative paper bag with the other.

"It's been a doozy for sure Sir, we got a lot of information, and evidence."

Taking the manila folder, he set it on his lap and opened the thing up, scanning over the results of the investigations. Simon frowned, it seemed that sifting the lake had been a better idea than he had originally suspected, seeing as they fished a body out of it.

"The investigation of the railyard yielded some important clues, as we found Mr. Louse's car, and a likely murder weapon inside of it. It was a nightstick, Mr. Louse was a security guard, and it was covered in blood. We found the victim's DNA, but also someone else's, the results are still being tested." The dotard's voice was a bit groggy, but still held that annoyingly vociferous tone to it, "Here, Sir."

Simon glanced up from his paper to be met with a small lunch container, holding what looked to be noodles. The convict narrowed his eyes at it, discerning the item before giving in and taking it, a bit surprised by it warmth. A plastic spork was placed on top of the container lid, which he gave the detective a stern look for, only to have it thwarted when the man sheepishly held up his own spork. Who even buys sporks?

"I made some pasta last night since I ran out of bread, I hope you like pesto, Sir!" The dotard offered with a salute. It seemed the man forgot his salute hand was also the hand holding the spork as the measly prongs jabbed against his aviators, earning a humorously distressed sound from the grown man.

Simon let out a snort in response. He carefully popped open the lid and began to eat, he couldn't even remember the last time he had pesto. It was mildly frustrating fighting with the noodle shells, the spork clearly having the disadvantage here. Still, the food was good.

"We sifted through the lake as you asked," the fool started, "and we found a body."

Simon had read as much on the report.

"He is currently being identified now, however I believe the man is Mr. Louse. Which flips the while crime on it's head. We found rope and cinder blocks attached to his ankles, whoever did kill him likely killed Mrs. Cade as well."

The convict glanced over the file with a frown, "so we are back to suspect one, Mr. Cade."

"His alibi still holds up however. He was at work when all this happened." The dotard pointed out through a mouthful of pasta.

Simon gave a disgusted sound, but said nothing as as he was more focused on flipping through their current evidence. Who else could it be then?

A sharp pang against the bars of his cell startled both himself and the detective. He shot the cause of such racket a venomous glare, who just so happened to be the Warden himself. The impotent man opened his mouth to speak but closed it almost immediately, as the man was becoming suddenly very distressed.

The dotard noticed this as well and set his food down, concern spreading through his features while he pushed to his feet. "Warden Verbrecher?"

"He is out of his shackles Detective! This is a huge breach of security, the man is a dangerous killer" Simon lifted his lip at the man as he continued to speak "he murdered someone, Detective! He cannot be unrestrained when you are inside his cell!"

Simon wasn't sure how this would play out, but he doubted it would end favorably for himself. His wrist throbbed from the memory of shackles being too tight on his wrists whenever he left his cell, the cold metal dug into them painfully. It was foolish, to think that it could remain as it had. Unshackled, within the comfort of his own space, and actual food were too unreasonable of requests to be made by a dangerous killer.

At first, Simon had though the dotard was truly batty, as his laughter suddenly filled the cell like the harsh sunlight that glints off his aviators. Too bright, and too much, but when not aimed at your eyes, pleasing to see.

"Oh Warden Verbrecher, surely you have more confidence in me than that! Lady Justice would never see it fit for an unarmed man to not be free of restraints within his own cell!" the fool laughed again, "besides, I can defend myself if needed!"

The Warden was clearly not kosher with their arrangement, eyeing Simon suspiciously, "yet you arm him with a utensil to stab you."

Simon had to work to keep a chuckle from escaping his lips.

"That is a spork, Warden Verbrecher, it is harmless, I assure you!" The dotard saluted, grinning from ear to ear at the impotent man.

Not convinced, the sorry excuse for a warden grunted, but gave to the detective's judgement. He offered the file he had brought with him, likely the reason he had come down in the first place, which the dotard took with glee. "Thank you Warden! This will be very helpful in solving our case."

Said warden gave a wary grunt, shot Simon a look, then left.

"You didn't seriously force us to eat with sporks because you feared I would try to cut you down with a fork, did you?" Simon found himself accusing before he had time to even try and filter the statement.

The detective looked positively bewildered for a beat, before bursting out in laughter, which was still too loud and too bright. "Of course not Sir! Sporks are just handy to eat with, the swiss army knife of the utensil world, surely!"

He genuinely bought the sporks because he liked them, much to Simon's both amusement and irritation.

The dotard sat down on the ground again, opening up the new file and reading through what it had to say. While he did so, the convict patiently waited his turn. As he waited, an unwelcome and unwarranted irritation blossomed in the back of his mind. Not at the aviators before him, but at the Warden. Had it been truly necessary to yell at the detective? Surely the man did not warrant such an over exaggerated reaction.

Simon was brought back to the present when he heard the boisterous fool speak up, "the body has been confirmed as Mr. Louse. He bore rope burn, as well as a few bruises. Like Mrs. Cade he died from a head trauma wound, not drowning. They also found traces of the spores that Mrs. Cade had in her lungs, though that isn't surprising given where the body was found."

That completely ruled out Mr. Cade then, who else was left then? What motivation would Miss Lime have for murdering Mr. Louse as well as Mrs. Cade? None, that he could reasonably put together. They likely never met.

There was someone who would. Someone, who may have known more than she had let on.

"Fool, detain Mrs. Louse, I believe she may have known far more than he led you lot to believe." He instructed, snapping the original folder shut, tossing it at the detective. The man caught it, seemingly grown to expect things to be thrown at him now.

Simon offered the, now empty, lunch container to the man in a more polite manner. He was thankful for the food, and did not wish for the dotard to believe he was ungrateful. The detective took it with a wide smile, "I'm glad you liked it Sir!"

Simon scoffed, "I merely did not eat today, do not pride yourself on making more edible food than a prison."

Much to the convict's affliction, the man was clearly not convinced by his words, offering simply a humoring chuckle in response.

The Detective finished gathering the two folders and anything else they had in the cell today before letting himself out. He gave his salute with a grin, "I'll call in for Mrs. Louse to be questioned again immediately. If she is the culprit, the truth will come to light for sure, in justice we trust!"

After the fool left, Simon found the silence of his cell to be a bit colder than usual.

...

Morning had graced his cell once more. The warm light from the window splayed into the otherwise dark cell of Simon's. He had not slept, of course, but the light was welcome as a sign of a new day.

As the convict enjoyed the faint sound of the morning birds, he began to hear footsteps in the distance. He recognized them easily enough, and sat up just as he heard the jingle of keys the fool produced when unlocking his cell.

"Good Morning Prosecutor Blackquill Sir!" He greeted gleefully. "I have some fantastic news! We detained Mrs. Louse last night, and she confessed to killing both her husband and Mrs. Cade, apparently the cheating had been going on for years, and she was tired of being used."

The Detective plopped down on the ground, curiously with no folder in hand today, and reached into his paper bag to produce another container of pasta like yesterday. Simon took it and popped open the lid, snorting in disdain as he realized he would have to use a blasted spork again.

If the fool noticed his irritation, he didn't comment. Instead, he beamed "you were a huge help on the case Sir! I doubt any of us would have thought to sift through the lake like you had, surely not as soon at the very least. Good you did too, as Mrs. Louse would have removed it tonight and burned it instead."

Simon didn't find it worth praising, instead he found it more pathetic the detectives on the case would not have thought to check the lake a murder happened at. Surely the legal system was better than that.

It wasn't, he knew it wasn't. If it were, the one who killed Metis would be behind bars. Instead, he was here. Yet he was deserving, he had failed Metis when she needed him most, and he had failed Athena too by letting her mother die.

The grotesque memory still haunted him. Feeling his head throb painfully, Simon pressed the heel of his palm to his right eye, closing them as he willed the image away. He suddenly remembered that the dotard was here and opened his eyes immediately, suspecting the man to start talking loudly or making a show of his momentary lapse of judgement.

Instead, the detective seemed to be looking out the window, not paying him any attention. Simon could not tell if the dotard had truly not noticed his actions, or if he was simply giving him a polite distance of space to deal with it.

The former was the likely option, he noted.

"You do not have a case file with you. Why are you here?" Simon commanded, seeking to find something to do with his embarrassment, and it seemed snapping at the fool before him was the first option that came to mind.

It surprised the Detective at least, Simon noted with a small amount of satisfaction, even if the man wasn't intimidated whatsoever.

"Oh! Right! I came to talk of course Sir! After the trial for Mrs. Louse is over, Prosecutor Gavin will be doing another case, and I suggested you come with me to investigate the scene of the crime!" The Detective exclaimed in what could only be described as elation.

Simon nearly dropped his spork, though quickly shifted his expression to one more befitting the Twisted Samurai. "And why would I do that?"

"It'll be good for you to get out Sir, you've been here for a while, and when you get your prosecuting badge back, you might get too overwhelmed if we don't take baby steps!"

"You treat me as if I would fall into a dithering mess the moment I step outside." He spat, though knew the man did hold a valid point, even if he still didn't understand why he was working towards getting his badge back.

"Of course not Sir! But even the strongest of people can get stressed!"

"Tch. I'll be dead in a year so why would you care?" It was a below the belt comment, and Simon knew it. Yet, the Detective didn't even flinch, to his surprise, and simply maintained that overly happy smile of his.

"Because you'll be walking free a reformed man of course!" The Detective said it so confidently, Simon could almost will himself to believe it true. But he knew better.

"I am to be hanged next year you deplorable Detective, give up your little fantasy quest now, I am guilty of my crimes and will not be reformed." Anger and white hot shame started to bubble beneath the Twisted Samurai's skin as he fight to maintain a neutral face.

"I will never give up on your Prosecutor Blackquill!" The man retorted, his tone shifting to a more stern one (perhaps angry?). It was made clear that he would not be persuaded from his ridiculous quest.

It was said with such conviction that it actually left Simon speechless for a couple moments.

"You are a _fool_." Simon snapped, gripping his spork tight enough for it to bend under the pressure some.

"Perhaps," Fool Bright laughed, "but I make pretty good pasta!"

Simon realized that he was nearly done with the container he had been given, and snorted indignantly to hide his embarrassment.

"You give yourself too much credit, Fool Bright."


End file.
